


Falling Slowly

by Fandom_Stuff



Series: A Collection of Ficlets [14]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Drunkenness, M/M, Sadness, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-17
Updated: 2020-11-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:22:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27597467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fandom_Stuff/pseuds/Fandom_Stuff
Summary: Dean's slowly falling apart after Cas' death.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Castiel
Series: A Collection of Ficlets [14]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1888318
Comments: 6
Kudos: 23





	Falling Slowly

Five years. 

That’s how long it had been and it still hadn’t gotten any easier. 

Cas was still dead, the world was still shit, and Dean was still just as broken as he’d been on the day his angel had looked him in the eyes and told him he loved him. 

He thought the pain would dull after a while, he thought that if he kept waking up everyday and kept going through the motions that maybe he’d stop feeling Cas’ loss. But instead, everyday he woke up and it hurt  _ more _ . 

Sometimes it hurt so much that he couldn’t breathe. It felt like he was drowning in air. Everything and everyone around him kept dying and he kept living. 

He felt like he was slowly losing his mind, and that eventually he’d end up in a rubber room with a solitary window that looked out on the world that seemed to only exist to mock him. 

The only reason he was still alive was because he knew Cas wouldn’t want him to take his own life. So he kept breathing; but breathing wasn’t living.

Every breath he took was painful. It was like swallowing nails. Oxygen would fill his lungs to near bursting and he’d hold it in until darkness started to creep in at the edges of his vision. When he’d finally breathe out his body would shudder and he’d raise a bottle to his lips, feeling the burn of alcohol as it slid down his wounded throat. 

Everyday he thought over Cas’ last words. Everyday he cursed himself for not saying anything back, for looking into those blue eyes and letting Cas think that he didn’t love him too. He thought about how everything he wanted had been so close, within reach, and it still slipped through his fingers. 

With a sigh he shifted in his bed to look over at the picture that sat on his bedside table. He’d framed it after Cas had died. It was a picture of the two of them that he’d taken at some random bar after a case. Sam had gone to get them more beers and, on a whim, Dean had pulled Cas into a quick side hug and snapped the picture. 

Cas was looking at the camera in confusion, head tilted to the side, eyes narrowed, mouth pulled into the beginning of a frown, and Dean was smiling like he wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.

He wished he could go back to that day, the adrenaline from a hunt slowly passing out of his system, the alcohol making everything light and easy. That was the day he should’ve told Cas. 

“I love you too,” Dean said to the picture. 

It didn’t matter now, but it still felt good to say it. 

His finger traced lightly over Cas’ face, resting on his furrowed brow, attempting to smooth the one stray strand of hair back from his forehead. It was a futile attempt, it was just a picture of Cas, trapped in time, locked away in the past to which Dean didn’t have a key. 

Dean still prayed, every night, just to have someone to talk to. He didn’t care that the prayer fell on deaf ears, he just took comfort in the solace that it provided. If he could pretend that Cas could hear him, it made things just a little bit easier. 

He knew he wasn’t going to last much longer, he had no will to live, he just wanted it to be over, he just wanted to find peace. 

Living was agony. 

It was torture. 

It was an unending cycle of pain and despair, and he was tired of it. 

He was slowly falling apart, ripping at the seams, the bottles on his bedroom floor were like stuffing, pulled from a worn body, aged with time. The longer he lay in his bed, staring at that picture of Cas, at the face of the angel he’d loved more than life itself, the more the empty space beside him ached.

With a sigh, he let his eyes tilt to the ceiling and he took the last swig of his drink before letting the empty bottle fall to the ground with the rest. As his eyes shut, the numbing drunkenness falling over him in a dark cloud, he hoped that tonight would be the night he didn’t wake up. 

He hoped that tonight, he’d finally join Cas.


End file.
